


Coward

by manicalicorn (AnglophilicSins)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Incest, M/M, Panic Attacks, Politics, Pseudo-Incest, Shit's messy, Trust Issues in spades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnglophilicSins/pseuds/manicalicorn
Summary: In this world, there are only two types of people: the brave, and the cowardly.Ludwig thinks he knows which one he is.





	Coward

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be much, much longer. Like, multiple chapters, long. I took it, changed the names (to Robert and Alric), shortened it to about 1K words, and submitted it for my narrative-writing class assignment because why not. Teacher loved it. (Y) Now that that class is over, I am changing the names back to Ludwig and Gilbert and finally sharing it here. Enjoy.

There are two types of people in the world: the brave and the cowardly.  
  
Ludwig is pretty sure he knows which of the two he is, as he stalls for time.  
  
“I thought you said it would be a ‘boring administrative job’,” Ludwig hisses, tugging at the collar.  
  
“But it is, essentially,” Gilbert says with laughing eyes, “now stop fussing with your robes.”  
  
Five more minutes, and then Ludwig would have to go out there, pretend to be brave, to be someone he’s not. His hands have gone clammy, his face is pale, stomach tumbling. Gilbert seems to take pity on him, and with a surreptitious glance around, he reaches up and plants a sweet kiss on his lips.  
  
“Relax, I’m right here for you,” Gilbert winks a single apple-red eye, “’brother’.”  
  
Minutes later, King Ludwig ascends the long empty throne.  
  
It really is a ‘boring administrative job’, like Gilbert had promised. All he does is sign papers that Gilbert shoves under his quill, or recite speeches that Gilbert writes, or smile at whoever Gilbert tells him to smile at.  
  
Prince Gilbert would have made a great king. Should be king: he is the first-born son to the late king and queen, has grown up with the court, studied under great tutors and from thick tomes. Whereas Ludwig is barely literate, has grown up with pigs and crude iron, and hasn’t the slightest clue how the legal system even works.  
  
“See how we prosper with the True King Ludwig on the throne! See how much better we are now without Prince Gilbert holding regency: the devil-born prince, who was born feet first on a moonless night, who wields his blade and quill in his left!”  
  
And Ludwig wants to clobber them as hurt flickers in Gilbert’s demon-red eyes. But Gilbert tells him to smile, to kiss their hands, so he does so. Later that night, his only contribution to the new bill - a bill praised for its brilliance - is an awkwardly scrawled signature beneath a document written entirely in that neat, left-handed cursive.  
  
“You look like my brother,” Gilbert had said, almost wistfully, in that dingy tavern so long ago, “golden hair, blue eyes… What he would’ve looked like had he grown up.”  
  
Ludwig had swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, hid behind his beer as he said, “that’s a rather awkward thing to say to a lover, isn’t it?”  
  
“He disappeared one day. My fault, apparently; I was supposed to watch over him,” then a strange glint had entered those eyes. “I don’t even think anyone would be able to tell the difference. So Ludwig, would you like to come and live with me?”  
  
Gilbert is fast asleep beside him this morning. Ludwig smiles and rises noiselessly, deciding not to disturb him after the previous night's stressful court session. Instead, he looks around the room with some curiosity, wondering what the files and boxes are all for, if he could learn their secrets and lighten the burden of kingship that Gilbert bears alone.  
  
He finds a tiny key, and another, and then he finds a drawer hidden under coats, and a locked box in a false bottom of that drawer. And in that box, he finds a letter. To him.  
  
_“Luts,_  
  
_Your mam’s dead. I kno she isent your birth mam but I thout you’d wanna com hom for the funeral.”_  
  
“What are you doing,” the voice is sharp, and Ludwig jumps in alarm at the unfamiliarity. He turns, and sees, on Gilbert’s lovely, pale face, if just for an instant, an alien look of pure, unbridled hate.  
  
Then something happens. Before him, the face is shifting, warping. Creases and furrows form with a frighteningly calculated precision, the hard hellfire-red eyes melt instantly to soft dewy rose, tears forming on command.  
  
“I’m so sorry, love, I meant to tell you. I was just so afraid you’d leave me.”  
  
But even as Ludwig gathers the other into his arms and rubs soothing circles into his back, they both know what he saw, what Gilbert failed to hide.  
  
It feels like forever, though it is only three weeks, playing pretend. They still spend the nights together, are still friendly brothers in public. But Ludwig can see the sharp edges behind Gilbert’s every smile, snapping just a little too sharply and sneering just a little too contemptuously at every mistake Ludwig makes. Those ruby-red eyes watch him - wary and suspicious and afraid - always watching.  
  
Ludwig wants so badly to tell Gilbert that he doesn’t care, that he doesn’t mind being used as a puppet king, that he isn’t planning revenge, or some sort of counter-plot. That the love he feels for Gilbert is still there, still real.   
  
There are two types of people in the world: the brave and the cowardly.  
  
Ludwig was pretty sure he knew which of the two he was, as he says nothing, does nothing, and plays pretend.  
  
It’s been a harrowing evening: they’ve been fighting over Ludwig’s robes and Gilbert’s been yelling and now he’s practically collapsed from fury. When the pageboy comes to call them down to the banquet, Ludwig thinks to spare Gilbert any further stress and tells the page that Gilbert will not attend.  
  
The speed with which Gilbert bolts upright startles them both, and the sharpness of his smile as he politely informs the page that, “No, I will be attending the banquet, thank you” scares the boy so thoroughly he practically flees down the hall. Ludwig is hardly even surprised when Gilbert backhands him sharply across the cheek.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I will not have you ruining my plans. Shut up and keep your head down.”  
  
The banquet is a failure. Ludwig keeps his end by staying obediently silent, but Gilbert’s nerves are so shot that all his sweet words mean nothing when the nobles see his dishevelled silver hair and wild blood-red eyes. There are whispers, stares. “Mad,” they call him, “Possessed.”  
  
They return to their bedchambers that night, and Gilbert is almost doubled over taking in ragged breaths through rattling teeth. Ludwig’s heart aches to see him suffering, and he reaches out to tell him, sincerely, all that he wanted to before. That Gilbert is loved, that there is nothing that Gilbert need fear, that they can make it through together, that Ludwig is loyal, that Ludwig trusts him.  
  
Gilbert’s violent shaking stops, abruptly, his entire body frozen into an unnatural stillness.  
  
“…iar.”  
  
And in the next moment Ludwig is stunned, his vision swims, he chokes and gasps like a grounded fish as his airways are suddenly cut off and through the loud ringing in his ears he hears screams, and _oh_ how strange and distant they sound…  
  
“-iar! You liar! You liar! You li-”  
  
Sweet air rushes into his lungs, and through his wracking coughs he watches as the guards rush in, as they wrestle and drag Gilbert, still struggling, out of the room. His vision clears, and the last he sees of Gilbert is the tears running freely down his cheeks, his lips stretched painfully wide by his screams. The doors slam.  
  
Gilbert is executed at dawn.  
  
There are two types of people in the world: the brave and the cowardly.  
  
Ludwig is pretty sure he knows which of the two he is, as he packs his things and runs away. Away from the throne, away from his brother, for the second time in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> If I ever get around to it, I might finish the non-abbreviated version and then you can also have this fic in its full 10K+ word glory. Given my arse time management though, that probably won't happen. Still, we can hope.


End file.
